Honey
by AFishNamedSushi
Summary: Killing a Reaper, coming back from the dead, and dealing with an ego-maniac who smokes a lot. Who would have thought that getting drunk and sleeping with your best friend was the tough part? Sequel to "Boyfriend".
1. Someone's Rocking My Dreamboat

**Welcome to part 2 of...well, there is no series, but this is the sequel for Boyfriend. I would recommend reading Boyfriend first if not only to plug my own fic but because this story starts right where the other left off. **

**As I've said before, I am a baby fic writer so reviews and constructive crit is welcome! Hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Something sharp was poking into her chest.

The pain wasn't too intense though, so Shepard really didn't think it warranted her waking up. She shuffled her feet, faintly feeling the rubbing of the tangled sheets wrapped around her legs. Stubbornly, she refused to open her eyes, willing the haze of her mind to return to a dream that had been so rudely interrupted.

In her state of half-waking and half-sleep, she sought to piece together the fragments as they drifted:

_…the tingling of her skin as pinpricks as sharp as needles caressed her sides and ghosted across her stomach, the disjointed feel of her body luridly swaying as her mind tried to keep up, a cold pressure against her forehead as she was pressed into a hard surface, her fingers grasping and hands clawing for support…_

Shepard adjusted her posture, nuzzling her cheek into the pillow. The fog between sleep and awake was a tidal wave she had ridden before, often waking slightly before her alarm would sound – not early enough to allow her to fall fully back to sleep but not late enough that she felt she should get up. It was always a cost-benefit analysis, weighing the reasons for and against. This wave was intense though, as her head literally felt as if it was rising and falling in a steady pattern of a repeated rhythm.

And the pillow beneath her cheek was strange.

And the pain in her chest was still throbbing.

Dammit. She had been in such a deep sleep too.

Opening her eyes, Shepard took in the hard plated torso of the turian that she had her head resting on. Consciousness hit her like a smack in the face. She was definitely awake now. Those hazy images had not been a dream.

Rolling over, Shepard delicately raised herself to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Bracing her hands on the mattress, she slowly inched herself into a standing position. There was no noise from the bed's other occupant as she tip-toed her way to her bathroom. The light turned on automatically as she entered, causing her to instinctually raise her arm above her eyes to shield herself from the blinding intensity. When the shock subsided, she braced her hands on the sink and looked at her reflection.

Holy shit.

It she had any doubt before about the reality of those fuzzy images, they were all thrown out the airlock as she took in the state of herself. Particularly the tiny puncture holes on her neck. Sweeping her hair to the side to examine them better, she gingerly pressed her fingers to the purple monstrosities. The tenderness of them to the touch confirmed it too. Catching the eyes of her reflection, Shepard saw her own expression contort as her brain struggled between confusion and realization.

What had happened? She remembered going to the bar, getting drunk off her ass, dancing with some asshole mercenaries, kissing Garrus…

Her expression fell. Uh oh.

She felt her chest clench. She remembered kissing Garrus, that one act a physical manifestation of the sudden rush of feelings for him that had snuck up on her, least of all expected when he had spurned her advances.

And without the buffer of a sober mind to censor her actions…

Shepard tensed as she heard the creaking of the bed, the sharp intake of breath as Garrus no doubt took in his surrounding with the same shock that she had. She heard muffled shuffling, hurried movements, a few mutterings she couldn't catch. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and fixed her reflection with a steely gaze. You can do this…you're Commander Fucking Shepard after all. Waking up next to your best friend after a half-remembered night of…whatever that was…was nothing compared to the shit she'd seen, the things she'd done. This was a cake walk compared to taking down a Reaper.

So…why couldn't she translate that to her legs?

"Sh…Shepard?"

Oh God. He was right outside the bathroom.

She cleared her throat, "Yeah?"

"I, uh…Are you okay?"

"I'm fine". Except for heart palpitations. "I'll be out in a bit". Once my legs start working.

Garrus was silent. She was straining to hear any movement on his part, any indication of his mood so she could begin to plan how the hell she was going to address this situation. Should she act like nothing happened, brush it off? But that might offend him, especially if the bite marks on her neck were any indication. They weren't exactly subtle, and she doubted he would very much appreciate her making light of him hurting her. He would probably feel bad enough as it was without her teasing him for it. But she did throw herself at him, so maybe it wasn't an act of instinct on his part. Maybe he saw the opportunity she presented him and he took it. Or maybe his usually impeccable control faltered in a haze of drink and hormones. He did always say he was a bad turian.

God, if only she hadn't drunk so much…

"Commander Shepard"

She jumped as EDI's voice shattered the uncomfortable silence.

"Yes EDI?"

"The Illusive Man wishes to see you in the Debriefing Room"

Shepard sighed. Just fan-fucking-tastic. "Okay, EDI. I'll be right down".

Grabbing her large fluffy robe from the shelf to tie it around her waist and making sure the top was fluffed up enough to cover the bite marks, Shepard opened the door. She didn't see him immediately, and when she finally did spot him hovering near the room's entrance she was shocked to find him in his full armor. She hadn't even noticed the pieces in her escape to the bathroom. Looking towards the bed, she noticed her dress from last night in a crumpled heap by the stairs. Further exploration yielded a shoe. More fragments from the night before tried to make themselves clear, but she stamped them out to focus her foggy brainpower on Garrus as he turned to her.

"Hey".

Uncomfortable silences weren't really her thing.

"Hey."

Even if he was adorable when he was awkward.

"I should probably go". Did he sound…regretful? Shepard tried not to read too much into it. Was that for what happened last night? Or for having to leave?

"Okay. I'll see you later". She tried not to make it sound like a question.

"Sure".

When he was gone she let out the anxious breath she had been holding.

Fuck.


	2. Just For Now

Fuck.

As the door to the Main Battery hissed shut at his back, Garrus balanced his hands on the Normandy's firing cannon console before him and let out the breath he had been holding since exiting Shepard's quarters. His brain was swimming, the garish artificial light assaulting his senses as they bounced off the reflective surfaces of metallic machines. It was a struggle just to remain upright, let alone process the events of the morning.

What the hell happened?

One thing was for sure. He had drunk way more than he had thought last night. He was in no condition to be calculating firing algorithms right now. Not when the quickly scrolling code fragments on the screen made him want to puke. Or when hazy fragments of a half-remembered dream floated in and out of his mind:

_…the sharp sting of cheap liquor as it burned its way down his throat, the tightening of his chest in panic at the sight of a surprisingly empty barstool, the unexpected yet intriguing resistance of soft flesh as his hands traced along a curved canvas, a flow of metallic bitterness on his tongue…_

Garrus sighed. He really had not intended to get so drunk last night. In retrospect though, it wasn't surprising that he had. Things around the ship had been rough lately; with the Illusive Man breathing down their necks to prepare for the unknown Collector threat, the never-ending side-trips they were forced to take to repair the next squad member with a damaged psyche, and his increasing frustration at Shepard's attitude since their…misunderstanding. She had been so cold to him lately, treating him as nothing more than just a subordinate, which while true was completely out of character given their history. But even if he didn't approve and hated to admit it, he knew why she was behaving that way. It seemed women of all species were universally versed in the "silent treatment".

Still…he could remember that taste. Although he may have a fuzzy recollection of all that had happened the previous night, he didn't think he had a creative enough imagination to make that up.

His jaw clenched. The memory of that bite was like experiencing it all over again. It wasn't that it was so uncommon, for him or any other blue-blooded male, to experience such a swell of arousal that caused a lashing-out. Had it been with another member of his own species, he wouldn't be thinking twice about it now. But it wasn't with another turian, and it wasn't with some stranger either. Yet he and Shepard weren't exactly...together...and Shepard wasn't some random person. And he had served on human ships long enough to know that such actions were bound to have consequences, particularly if the other party wasn't as...enthusiastc...as he was.

It offered some small consolation then that what he could recall of the night before did not involve Shepard protesting when he bit her. Nor had she seemed angry with him this morning when he had awoken.

Attempting to re-focus his attention on the console, Garrus began the tedious practice of entering code fragments into the Thannix cannon's firing algorithm. With a feeling of muted detachment, he watched his fingers fly across the holographic keys as they entered data he had memorized long ago. He thanked the Spirits that his job was so monotonous he could literally focus only half his concentration on the task.

So it didn't appear that he had bitten her against her will. He seriously doubted he would be alive if it were otherwise. In fact…she hadn't appeared to be angry with him for it at all. Frazzled yes, particularly in her haste to cover up when EDI had caused her to leave the bathroom…and how endearing was she when she was awkward?…

Picking up the pace of his typing, Garrus began correcting data strains he had missed in his first pass through.

Not that he would ever tell her that, of course. He enjoyed those rare times when she dropped the tough Commander mask and allowed him to see through to the genuine Shepard. Those were the moments he prized after rejoining her crew on Omega, the ones he didn't realize were so precious and rare until after he left the first Normandy, the ones he analyzed again and again in the aftermath of her death. He knew that only those who knew her well would be able to see those glimmers through the cracks of her facade, the burden on her shoulders so great she inevitably would slip. It was a trajedy that for someone so beloved and revered there would be so few who would recognize that slip when they saw it. Garrus doubted many other people, except maybe Tali, were trusted enough to see beneath her carefully crafted shell.

So…if what they had done last night did not offend her, then…what did that mean?

His brain was tickling. He was far too hungover to deal with such serious thoughts right now.

As if to echo his sentiments, he accidentally entered an incorrect code fragment into the series. At his misdirection, the console blared a sharp warning that was magnified as it bounced across the surfaces in the Main Battery.

Ugh. Way too hungover.

* * *

_A/N: Those of you who read this on the k-meme may notice that the story is somewhat different so far. I'm trying to improve the plot a bit, alleviating some issues that were brought up in comments over there. _

_Thank you to those who have reviewed and set alerts for the story. I appreciate it, and hope you're enjoying it!_


	3. I'm Getting Sentimental Over You

In her opinion, night time was the best time on the Citadel. Well, if you could technically call it "night", since the whole concept was based on the presence or absence or artificial sunlight. Somehow plants seemed to thrive here though, as the myriad of foliage and mini gardens surrounding the Presidium were some of the best-kept botanical gardens she had seen since her last visit to Earth. As with most things here though there was a hidden cost associated with the benefit. She wondered how much of the rent for one apartment here went to keeping the surrounding Citadel in such splendor. Probably a lot. Hell, it's been two years since Sovereign's attack and you wouldn't even know it.

Not from the postcard anyway.

Standing atop the catwalk overlooking the Wards below, Shepard rested her hands on the railing to balance herself as she peered over the edge. Having been tasked with keeping an eye on the turian politician as he made his rounds, she watched as he went about courting constituents and trying to win them over to his anti-human agenda. Watching as he greeted members of various species with grand gestures and enthusiastic promises in exchange for their vote, she vaguely wondered if it should concern her that the people he were talking to seemed genuinely pleased to see him and truthful in their pledge to support his campaign. The amount of anti-human sentiment present on the Citadel even after the Saren fiasco was troubling, especially after the amount of sacrifice humanity had given in the effort.

Still though, Shepard found she didn't really care. Maybe it was because she didn't live on the Citadel and didn't have to deal with it every day. Maybe it was because she was a soldier and instinctually avoided politics like the plague. Maybe it was because she knew that the day the Reapers came this politician and all his posturing wouldn't mean shit.

Oh well.

"Do you have eyes on him?" her comm unit crackled.

Shepard sighed, "Yes. He's talking to some voters".

"I'm moving ahead of him".

She peered back over the edge.

Yep, he was still there.

She couldn't really hear what he was saying from her height, but she could guess that it was a heartfelt pledge of some sort. He stood tall, waving his arms in exaggerated sweeping gestures. Body language was always a big indicator for Shepard of someone's character, something that she had learned was fairly universal across all species. Througout her life and her career she had learned to use the observation of behavior to successfully negotiate and intimidate alike. It had helped her sense Miranda's false bravado in the final showdown with Niket, Jacob's sadness beneath the anger when confronting his father, Jack's fear and indecision when confronting her childhood on Pragia. Everyone had something which spoke volumes about their true selves, something they didn't want anyone else to see.

Right now, the politician below with the animated movements and the huge krogan bodyguard was displaying to Shepard that he was a man of conceit and arrogance.

It was a theme she was noticing among certain species, though. Turians and Krogans especially tended to carry themselves with an air of authority, most likely due to the emphasis on military and conflict within their respective cultures. It was something she had first noticed with Wrex and Garrus on the original Normandy.

Shepard smiled to herself. Even after his accident, Garrus still walked around in that terrible blue armor. He walked tall and with purpose, wearing that scar on his face like a badge of honor. He acted like he towered above all others, which she guessed he did - both figuratively and literally. She remembered the first time she had been struck by just how much taller and larger he was than most human men. Looking back, it wasn't so surprising that she found it totally hot.

And Wrex…well, Wrex was Wrex.

He would probably take one look at her and know exactly how she was feeling. Though, instead of commenting on it or insisting they "talk it out", he would probably raise an eye-ridge and belt out a hearty laugh at her expense. God, he pissed her off so much sometimes back then. Shepard couldn't deny that she did miss him though. It was refreshing to have someone who wasn't afraid to call her out. Another reason why she was probably drawn to Garrus.

That list keeps piling up.

"Shepard, do you see him?"

She looked down. The politician was standing outside the door to a shop while his krogan bodyguard was inside haggling with the shop owner, no doubt extorting the poor bastard for some protection fee.

"I see him."

"I'm moving ahead."

Shepard sighed. She liked to think that she was a good reader of people, but Thane was one she couldn't quite figure out. He was all business; always watching and waiting. Sometimes she would catch herself in the act of doing something when she thought nobody was looking only to turn around and find him staring at her. Like earlier when she had caught herself absently rubbing the bite on her neck, now covered in a bandage which itched something fierce. It probably shouldn't irk her as much as it did, and he didn't appear to be judging her one way or another - just watching.

She mused that he had probably figured out her feelings for Garrus before she herself had become aware of them. He had probably seen it coming a mile away.

Thanks for the heads up.

It seemed everyone was a step ahead of her these days.

The thought was disconcerting. The last time someone had been one step ahead of her she had died, and though she was back she didn't think the Illusive Man could afford to have her rebuilt again this time. Not in time for the Reapers at least.

And there's a cheerful thought, she mused. Even though it was unavoidable, it probably wasn't a good thing that her thoughts always circled back to the incoming invasion, to the Collectors and the fact that she may not even be alive in six months to wonder what people thought about her. And, an even more disturbing thought, Garrus might not be alive either. The constant sense of impending doom was suffocating. But even though it was a distinct possibility, she really didn't want to let herself be drowned. Not when everyone was counting on her. Not when Garrus was counting on her.

As she followed the politician as he moved yet again, Shepard decided that enough was enough.

She was going to embrace the awkwardness, revel in the butterflies she got in her stomach when he was around, hold on to the tingling sensations he evoked whenever he touched her, find out what exactly the hell happened that night at Afterlife.

It was time to try this again.

She was going to ask him out. Properly this time.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you all are enjoyng this. As always, I greatly appreciate the reviews and alerts. It means a lot!_


	4. Whispering Grass

She hadn't returned his call. Again.

Sighing, Armando Bailey squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand across his face. He knew that she was mad at him, again, and was intentionally ignoring his calls. It wasn't uncommon for her to give him the silent treatment, especially when he didn't stumble home until well after the night cycle had started on the Citadel. He had entered their small apartment, cramped and over-priced, to find a place-setting on the kitchen table but no food. He knew it was her way of sticking it to him that he hadn't been home for dinner, again, without having to indulge in another circular argument which always ended with him saying he had to make a living and her threatening divorce. You would think she would be used to it by now.

It wasn't that Bailey wanted to work late. If he actually felt that all the long hours interrogating petty criminals and untouchable politicians could actually translate into active results, he wouldn't mind it so much. He may even approach the job in the way that the rookies right out of C-Sec Academy did, bright eyed and cocky with an attitude that only the new uniform can give. As it was though, he had worn the uniform long enough to know that all the authority it represented really didn't mean shit were it counted. For that kind of impact, you had to be above the law. He didn't envy Spectres though. People assumed that they had no red-tape to limit them, and while that may be true due to their endless jurisdiction in Council space and beyond, Bailey knew that politics was the worse kind of restriction. He would much rather be mired down in the trenches with the limitations placed on him by C-Sec than faced with having to placate the Fucked-up Four by conducting missions that looked better as a vid headline than actually helped people.

That was part of the reason that he had assisted Commander Shepard when she had shown up on the Citadel, giving all the C-Sec sensors and security personnel the confusion of a lifetime. He had never met the woman before then, but for some reason he wasn't that surprised that she wasn't really dead. Maybe it was because of her reputation - she was famous on a level where you became familiar with her through osmosis, where you feel that you know someone because you've seen their face on television a million times. It reminded him of when humanity first encountered turians - centuries of B-movies and Sci-Fi novels means that people weren't surprised by the existence of aliens, but were instead taken aback by the lashing they had received for activating the Relay. As it was, Commander Shepard was alive and while she hadn't been reinstated as a Spectre, he had a feeling she would be. Even the Council wouldn't be so stupid to deny the most famous human re-entry. If the only way a measly C-Sec Captain could help her out was by bending the rules to get her papers in order he would do it. He would have done it even if she hadn't agreed.

Turned out he was right. She did get reinstated, and it looked like she had come back just in the nick of time too if the amount of recruiting she was doing was any indication. The first time she came to the Citadel was with that turian, Garrus, to find the Fade. He should have known how that one would end, if not because of her reputation but because of his. Bailey had done his time in C-Sec when it was primarily turian and as such was no stranger to the Vakarian name. He had never worked with Junior before, but Vakarian Senior had a reputation. If the tough-plated no-shit-taking turian officers didn't want to deal with him, then Bailey sure as hell didn't want any part of him.

She had brought Junior with her again this time, but now he looked like he was only backup. Shepard was standing outside the interrogation room with the Drell, heads bowed together deep in a private discussion. Bailey hadn't seen many Drell before and knew very little of their culture and customs. To him, a human vaguely familiar with military protocol, the Drell's mannerisms with the Commander indicated that he was at least aware of human professional boundaries - arms behind his back, not initiating any movement to bring them closer, and not a smile to be seen that would indicate the conversation was anything other than business. In truth, Bailey didn't know or want to know what they were discussing. He was really only paying attention to their interaction because of how Junior was acting.

Bailey had picked up a few things before his promotion - you had too when there were only a few humans per dozen turians in an organization like C-Sec. He had been paying attention when the young turians took notice of a woman, the way their mandible-things would flutter as they focused those sharp predator eyes on her. That was often the first reaction to seeing a pretty girl, similar to an inexperienced teenager gawking at a huge pair of tits. It was different when they were personally attached, especially when they were trying not to show it. In this regard turians and humans were similar it seemed - furtive glances when they were sure she wasn't looking, a tense body posture when they spied her with another man, and a carefully-affected air of indifference when she spoke to them. Bailey was pretty sure that Junior had it bad for the Commander.

Bailey hoped that whatever the conversation she was supposed to be having with the Drell wasn't too important, because the Commander didn't appear to be paying much attention. She kept shooting glances towards the end of the hallway where Junior stood, fiddling his gloves. Whenever he would look at her, she would glance downward and furrow her brow as if deep in thought at whatever the Drell was saying. She would do this for a few seconds before taking another peek. Bailey lost count of how many times they had repeated the dance. It was amusing to see such ridiculous and regressed flirtation from two of the galaxy's most hardened soldiers. It reminded him of when he had first seen his wife all those years ago back on Earth, when she was a waitress at a simple restaurant in New York and he would always make sure he sat in her section. They had done the dance too, many times, until he had finally mustered up the balls to ask her out. Even now with all the tension between them, he couldn't help but smile when he remembered their disaster of a first date at some club that was both too obnoxious and too expensive.

Looking at the Commander and Junior, he wondered if maybe there wasn't something to be said for regression. Depending on how this case with the attempted assassination went, maybe he could take a night off and bring home some some nice Asari wine.

Bailey watched as the Commander and the Drell broke away from one another when the Drell's son was led in by two junior officers. When he caught her eye, Bailey motioned for the Commander to come see him. He was hoping that he wouldn't have to arrest the boy, especially when he seemed to have a much better chance of turning around than a lot of the other kids that had been led through those doors. The kid's father really seemed to care for him. He was glad when she suggested that they allow the kid to work as his punishment.

Before she turned to leave, Bailey gestured for her to lean in closer to him, out of earshot of anyone listening.

"There's a club down in Rakela Ward that was just renovated. It's right outside the turian district but they just added dextro- foods to their menu to bring in more customers."

She looked wary. "Okay...why are you telling me this?"

Bailey glanced around her to where Junior was standing, still fiddling with his gloves. She glanced over her shoulder to where he was looking. Her eyes widened before she turned back, this time with that infamous look of danger on her face. She cocked an eyebrow at him, not denying the insinuation yet daring him to say anything against it.

"Well, I should get back to it. If you need anything else Commander let me know".

When she turned around this time, he called out to her departing back, "They open at 10."

* * *

_Thank you all for reading and for setting alerts/favorites! I really appreciate it. _

_One thing I'm interested in doing as I continue to develop is to try and write from the perspective of other characters not part of the main story. I've always liked Bailey and I hope I did him justice._

_Also, as a side note, I've taken on another fill from the K-meme (why...I don't know..these things just happen sometimes). Depending on how it's received over there, I may bring it here as well. I'll keep you posted :)_


	5. If I Didn't Care

One of the things that Shepard had the hardest time getting used to when she first enrolled in the Alliance Academy was the strict protocol when it came to one's appearance. She could recall with perfect clarity the first few times that she was reprimanded for the state of her uniform, made all the more harrowing owing to the fact that she had spent literally hours the previous night working on it. Still, her superiors always found something to complain about – a small smudge on the corner of her boot, a slight lack-luster shine, an uneven seam in her dress pants. It wasn't until years later when she first took charge of her own group of recruits that she realized that there hadn't really been anything drastically wrong with her appearance. Apparently subjecting one's subordinates to the torture of being singled-out and bitched at for no reason at all was a time-honored military tradition, a method used by all instructors designed to wear down raw recruits. It was a cruel tactic, but it served a dual purpose. The first was to weed out those who wouldn't and shouldn't make it past day one.

The second was to instill in them that first impressions are everything.

Take for instance the club that Bailey had directed her to: if she had known anything about the Citadel layout past the Presidium, she may have realized that "newly renovated club just outside the turian district" really meant "crummy shit-hole that just power-washed all the dried vomit from their front sidewalk".

Now that she was seated in said bar, it was becoming apparent that those lessons from basic still applied.

She was seated at a small table that was nestled between two of the many brightly-lit single stripper displays interspersed throughout the club. Holding her drink in one hand and balancing her chin in the other, Shepard absently watched the dancers nearest her. All the strippers she had seen on the Citadel had been asari, but she supposed since the club was near the turian district they had to staff accordingly. Having never really seen female turians before, she couldn't really tell if the women were beautiful, but judging by the large crowds of male turians and a few quarians that were fighting for a front-view row she would wager that they were.

She would take their word for it, and she damn sure wasn't going to ask the only turian she knew if he found them attractive. Not when being the only human female in the bar was making her feel singled-out enough as it was. And that was in addition to the fact that she still wasn't quite sure what she hoped to accomplish by suggesting to Garrus that they go here before departing the Citadel.

Not really sure what "this" was, Shepard hadn't been quite sure how to approach the evening. That was the part of relationships that she had always felt the most awkward about – trying to decide exactly where you stood in the other person's eyes. She and Garrus had been friends for a while, so that probably meant that she should approach the evening casually. But they had had sex, really rough turian-style sex by the look of things, and she cared about him enough to feel that she should dress to impress, forgetting the fact that she wouldn't really know how to impress a turian if she tried. She had decided that wearing her full Commander armor was probably too much, so she opted instead to wear the only respectable-yet-bar-worthy item in her wardrobe.

Shepard smiled remembering the little smirk that Kasumi had given her when she saw her in the black leather ensemble once more, especially since Shepard had sworn up and down after the Hock mission that she would never wear the damn thing again.

But Garrus had seemed to like it, or at least he didn't hate it. At least she thought he hadn't. He had commented on it, misunderstanding Joker's disparaging remark about her looking "killer" and saying matter-of-factly that of course she was a killer, why would the outfit she was wearing matter. Shepard smiled at the memory, noting how even at the time she had found his confusion ridiculously cute. She would admit that the dress did flatter her figure, and she was fairly confident that in any other setting she would be getting more than a few appreciative glances from other patrons. As it was though, she hadn't had anyone approach her except the waiter, and even he hadn't checked her out.

Sipping from her drink, Shepard focused on the dancer in front of her. Thinking about how a room full of turian men apparently didn't find her attractive while waiting for her turian date was definitely not going to help her calm her nerves. More drinking would, of course, but then that would lead them right back to what happened last time and as amazing as that had been (from what she could remember), she wanted to take full advantage of the small amount of down-time that had been afforded them.

A glint of light behind the crowd caught her attention. Her eyes were drawn to a tall turian making his way through the crowd. She could tell it was Garrus due to the catching of his visor in the garish lights of the club. Of course he had worn his visor. - when did he not? He had probably worn his armor too.

She felt a clenching panic in her chest. Damn it, she knew she shouldn't have assumed anything. She should have trusted her instincts and worn her damn armor!

He was inching closer through the crowd by the second.

What would he think when he saw her? It would be obvious that she had stupidly, pathetically thought this was something more than it was. She shouldn't have worn this stupid fucking dress! She shouldn't have done her makeup different. She shouldn't have worn heels. She shouldn't have –

Oh.

Garrus made his way through the crowd and the nervous clench that Shepard had felt was overwhelmed by a clench of an altogether different kind when she saw that he was not wearing his armor. Instead he was wearing…dress clothes?

He looked so different out of armor that she had come to associate it and him as one and the same – seeing him outside of it was a revelation. The dark blue shirt he wore enhanced the already sharp color of his eyes so that they appeared even more prominent and predatory, and the garment's silver accents perfectly complimented the natural metallic sheen of his plating. She had no doubt that he hadn't been joking when he had said he was handsome among his species. She didn't even know that he owned such nice clothes. Unless they were new? Certainly there had been occasions that she would have seen them otherwise. If they were new, then that meant that he had bought them especially for this…whatever this was.

The nervous clench was definitely back, and suddenly she felt under-dressed. Surely the entire club could hear her heartbeat even over the pounding music when he made his way to her table.

"Hey".

Breathe, Shepard.

"Hey".

"Can I sit down?"

Oh God. "Yes! Of course! I mean…go ahead…"

She saw his mandibles slide upwards in a grin as he slid into the seat. Good thing he was finding this amusing because the emotional rollercoaster she had hyped herself into before his arrival coupled with the shock of his appearance was throwing her for a loop. Who would have though Commander Shepard, slayer of Reapers, resurrected Spectre, would be panicking because of a date.

Deep breaths. Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid. Don't be –

"Did you find the place okay?"

Stupid.

Oh boy.

* * *

_Thank you all for reading, reviewing, favoriting, alerting, following, and reading again! I really appreciate it!_

_FYI on a few things while I have you here:_

_1. I went back and edited the last chapter to account for all my misguided capitalizations of turian. I apologize if that irked anyone when they read it._

_2. One reviewer mentioned that Bailey may be divorced...I honestly didn't check on that before I wrote the chapter (boo on me). The mentioning of the asari wine was in reference to the Shadow Broker footage of him sitting by himself with two glasses. In either case, whatever works for you is fine with me :) _


	6. Coquette

_Hi guys..._

_So sorry for the delay in getting this next chapter up here. My inspiration kindof went away there for a bit. I hope this chapter continues to entertain (and is not too silly)_

_And thank you for all the new reviews/follows/alerts. You have no idea how much they help keep it going!_

* * *

"You said that you were up for anything"

"I am. It's just..."

"Just, what?"

"It's weird"

"Weird? You know, people have been doing this for centuries. It's a time-honored human tradition".

"Do you always do what other people do?"

"Only when it's fun"

"I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one"

"Nice try, now just do it before I go all Commander on you and order you to"

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you"

Garrus spied the smirk that lifted the corners of Shepard's mouth, her eyes gleaming with the multitude of colors surrounding their small enclave in the nightmarish dance club. Rows of drinks littered their table, a few glasses upturned in last-ditch attempts to drain all the liquid they could offer.

When he had entered the club hours prior, Garrus hadn't been intending to drink.

He had it all planned out – that he would be charming and polite, that this would be the perfect opportunity for him to apologize to her while simultaneously yet subtly deciphering where she stood on what happened at Afterlife.

He should have known by now that with Shepard nothing ever went according to plan.

Instead, here he was - three drinks in and trying to learn a ridiculous human drinking game from the famous Commander Shepard. Somewhat into her own collection of drinks, she had obviously been nervous. He couldn't really blame her – being one of the only humans in a turian club, a dance club, had to be a first. But she took in all in classic Commander-stride. Even when the waiter appraised her low-cut dress and revealed clavicles with obvious interest, she didn't comment. Garrus had to stamp down the immediate desire to grab the other turian by the fringe and slam his head into the table, but figured that if Shepard didn't notice he probably shouldn't bring it up.

She was still staring at him with that small quirk to her strange human mouth, eyes darting down to where his hands held the makeshift object which represented the "football" in their little game of table-tennis but in reality was just a folded up paper coaster. He twirled the object around awkwardly, his three fingered grip looking overly massive against such a fragile thing. He was supposed to "flick" it at her, aiming for the spot between her hands where they were placed a foot apart on the table's surface.

He tried explaining to her that first of all, it was rich that she would challenge him to anything involving aiming, and secondly, he wasn't even sure if his fingers bent that way. She was undeterred as he knew she would be and continued to tease him, as he knew she would. He wasn't quite ready to explore whether he had set her up to tease him. That would mean that he enjoyed it, and he didn't know if he wanted to be that far gone yet.

Flexing his fingers, he made a great show of twirling the "football" from one hand to another.

"Quit stalling"

His mandibles twitched in a grin at her tone of mock-reprimand. At this point, he couldn't take her seriously even if she really meant it.

"You know me Shepard..."

"Yeah yeah, you always want to savor the shot before popping your load or something like that."

His grin widened, this time mixed with a little something like endearment at her gross mischaracterization of his remarks.

"How poetic"

She slid down further in her seat in a surprising display of childlike immaturity, arms still propped up in the ridiculous approximation of the "goal" he was supposed to shoot through.

"Come on, Garrus" she whined, "I'm getting bored. You don't want me to be bored do you?"

He chuckled, pausing in his transferring the thing between his hands.

"You're the one who invited me here, remember? Why did you invite me if I'm so boring?"

He noted that even in the conflicting atmosphere cast by too-dark shadows and too-bright lights, he could see her cheeks darken at his words. Her eyes darted away from him for a second, eyebrows furrowing slightly. It appeared she had been struck by a sudden and very serious thought.

Garrus felt his chest clench at her sudden intensity. He hadn't meant for it to be a serious question. Especially not if she had to break from having fun to think about her answer.

He was just about to open his mouth to tell her he was only joking when her eyes shifted back to his.

"You know why I invited you" she said, her voice hinting at something flirtatious that immediately sent a sparks across his plates.

He gripped the tiny football tighter as he straightened himself up.

He responded in kind, "I know that you want to look good for your fan club, but what do I get out of this?"

Maybe he imagined it, but Garrus liked to think he saw the exact moment when the light behind Shepard's eyes was more than just reflection, the exact moment when that spark of mischief he missed so dearly had peeked through. Even as it filled him with a slight terror, he knew he would do anything to see it again.

"Tell you what", she said and he knew he was done for. "Let's make it interesting..."


End file.
